


A Troubling Child

by eleutheria_has_won



Series: the Problem Children [1]
Category: The Underland Chronicles - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Future AU, Gen, Post-Code of Claw, ragers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleutheria_has_won/pseuds/eleutheria_has_won
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Repeat customers have always tried her patience as much as they hurt her heart, but this child is one of her most troubling, and somehow, she just can't see a way forward from here."</p>
<p>Growing up is hard; being a rager is harder. Doing both at once is, at times, impossible. Very few will ever understand. Margie Campbell, age 12, is one of these few. Her brother, eight years older, is another. </p>
<p>[An introduction to the Problem Children Universe, set 9 years post-COC.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Troubling Child

**Author's Note:**

> This is set 9 years after Code of Claw. Gregor is 20, almost 21, and Boots - now called Margie - is 12

She knows something's up when she walks into the office lobby and the secretary looks up immediately, like she's been waiting for someone. She stifles a world-weary sigh when she realizes that it's _her_ the secretary is waiting for. Oh, no, not today. She already feels a headache growing just behind her eyes. She doesn't need this today.

"Ms. Mason? Student for you in room three."

Now she really does groan, putting a hand to her forehead in defeat.

"Who is it, this… no. Don't tell me..." Lindsey Mason moans in exhaustion, a horrifying certainty in her mind. The secretary's grim nod confirms it all. She must fight the urge to turn out around and walk right out of the school again. Lindsey likes kids, she really does. It's why she became a school counselor. She knew what she was getting into (mostly) when she came to work at an inter-city school, and though it's hard at times, Lindsey really does like her job. Or at least, it's usually fairly tolerable. The rush of success when she makes a child's life better is worth it. But this child is both a repeat customer and a belligerent one. It is far too early to deal with this.

But she goes down the hallway anyway, turns right, and enters conference room three.

The girl slouches in one of the rolling chairs at the end of the oval-shaped conference table opposite the door. She's the picture of boredom as she uses a wicked looking penknife to carve something in the table's polished mahogany. Lindsey winces, but does not comment. No use starting the inevitable battle earlier than necessary; she's already dreading first contact.

When the counselor walks in, the girl's fire-bright eyes dart up, dark against her dark face, then dart back down to her artwork. She looks more sullen and dangerous than any twelve-year-old girl has any right to be, with that easy familiarity with her blade and those angry, mutinous eyes. Other girls her age are squealing at cute clothes and begging their parents to let them get a cell phone. _This_ girl's like a chained cat, crouched in a cage, just waiting until the moment it can get its fangs and claws into its captors and escape.

But Lindsey's used to this girl, has been around her long enough that she sees, beneath the girl's hostile exterior, the high-keyed panic, the frustration, the desperate longing to get out of here. If the girl is a panther or a lioness, she is one ready to chew her own limb off to escape this trap. Lindsey sighs. Something happened. Lindsey rolls her eyes at herself; understatement of the century. This time, she thinks, it might be bad, for this predatory girl to be so on edge.

Lindsey seats her self at the opposite end of the table, closest to the door (a necessary precaution, her traitorous mind whispers, and she ignores it; she can't help these children if she fears them). She makes slow, gentle movements, so as not to startle the girl who, besides that first glance, still has not really looked at her. It's when she's seated that the tense standoff can end and the battle begins.

"Margaret? It's only third hour. Would you like to tell me what happened?"

The girl's dark eyes narrow and flash up to meet Lindsey's own, the endless scratching sound of the knife on the wood table pausing. Without moving Margaret hisses several words in a language Lindsey Mason does not know, guttural, deep, and foreign. This is not unexpected. Despite being a most troubling child, and whatever else she is besides, Margaret Campbell is certainly intelligent, and has a passion and aptitude for languages one wouldn't expect from a girl of her age and disposition. Lindsey can't understand the words, but the meaning is clear:  _Go to hell_.

"Margaret, either you tell me what happened or I go talk to the secretary and find out the exact same thing. It doesn't change anything," Lindsey sighs, trying not to shiver. There is so much anger in those eyes, and at the same time, so much fidgeting fear. Margaret's only reply is to snarl several other words, this time in a language both sibilant and harsh, and now she goes back to her drawing, eyes moving down again, the scratching of the knife filling the silence. The meaning, of both her words and her actions, is quite obviously the same.  _Go to hell._

"Margaret…" Lindsey sighs again, trying to keep the very un-adult-like whine of frustration out of her voice. She wants to help. She does. (Even if she's tired and sad and just a little bit angry.) "…if I don't know what happened, there's no way I can help you, Margaret. You can't leave until we work this out, and that's not going to happen until you feel ready to tell me."

The flash of panic in Margaret's eyes as she meets Ms. Mason's eyes again is enough to make Lindsey Mason feel guilty - despite having told only the perfect truth. But with children like Margaret, terminally sullen and violent, any reaction can eventually be turned to anger. The panic in Margaret's eyes is the reaction of a young girl in trouble; the anger that slowly turns her eyes into daggers is the reaction of a fighter, once hurt and not prepared to be hurt again. Lindsey braces herself, preparing to weather the storm and to call in the other teachers if necessary. She doesn't think Margaret will physically attack her, but she can't be completely sure. The young girl begins to rise from her seat, hands braced wide on the table in a very threatening, and honestly frightening, way.

"You-" the girl spits out, looking ready to do murder.

Margaret's threat is interrupted by the quiet squeak of the hinges, and the door into the conference room opens behind Lindsey Mason; secretly, she breathes a sigh of relief as she turns around. She notes with some wariness that now Margaret focuses on the intruder with an intensity that promises trouble.

The intruder is a rather handsome young man with dark skin, eyes, and hair shaved close to his head. His clothing is comfortable and innocuous, if slightly worn-looking; he seems about college age, barely an adult, at least a decade younger than Lindsey herself, but he carries himself with a quiet sense of powerful dignity and responsibility, more so than any adult man Lindsey Mason has ever known. Just standing there with his hands in his coat pockets, she feels compelled to respect him, somehow. His face is carefully neutral as he studies Lindsey for a moment, causing an irritating flutter in her throat (along with, strangely enough, a flicker of fear), before turning his eyes on the girl at the other end of the room. Turning without a sound, Lindsey is surprised to see that Margaret, brilliant, sullen, angry Margaret, has gone very pale and is sitting quietly in her seat, hands clenching the edge of the table white-knuckled as she looks down at her lap. The knife has disappeared.

There's a faint brush of air as the man walks quickly past her, over to Margaret, and suddenly this stranger is crouched before her student, holding Margaret's hands. She fidgets, trying not to look at him; not out of awkwardness, but shame. Lindsey's indignant cry dies in her throat. There is a connection here; Lindsey feels a faint blush at being privy to what seems, suddenly, to be an oddly intimate (if platonic) moment.

"Are you okay?" the man says, his voice a pleasant tenor that, despite being no different from any other college kid's voice, holds both power and reproach in it. Margaret flinches, then mumbles a yes; Lindsey doesn't blame her. There is honest concern in that voice, but there is also something Margaret already knows: she's _definitely_ in trouble.

Assured of Margaret's well being, the man stands and faces Lindsey in one smooth, almost cat-like movement that sends a tingle of something up Lindsey's spine. She thinks it might almost be fear. His hand is firmly on Margaret's narrow shoulder.

"I'm Margaret's brother. Our parents sent me to collect her. What happened?" the man- Margaret's brother- says smoothly, face mild. Lindsey is taken aback for a moment, but she's had practice in keeping control of herself, even when she's lost control of the situation. (And oh, has she ever. She's not even sure when it happened.)

"You'd be better off asking Margaret herself, Mr. Campbell," she says.

"Gregor is fine," the man says with a vague smile, before turning to his sister, who shrinks beneath his gaze. "Margie?" he says gently, but with a command underlying the affectionate pet name.

His sister whips out from under his hand. She has a desperate, pleading look on her face. She looks like… a young girl who's made a mistake and is now begging for forgiveness because she needs help fixing it. Lindsey is struck by the expression; in the several months since Margaret has entered this school, with almost a dozen counselor meetings scattered throughout that time period, this is the first time that Lindsey has ever seen the twelve-year-old look her age.

"It was an accident, I didn't mean to!" Margaret says desperately, eyes frantically wide, "He just- I just- I didn't mean to- He…" The girl trails off, back hunching over, head falling down to face her lap, where her little artist's hands are knotting and unknotting. What she whispers next, Lindsey barely hears, even in the silence.

"I didn't mean to…"

Her brother's face is neutral, and it doesn't soften, even at this image of guilty suffering, but he lays a hand on her back, and it seems to be enough for now to quiet some of her shudders. Turning back to Lindsey, he raises an eyebrow. Lindsey sighs.

"Given  the fact that your sister has had problems with violence before, I imagine it is something of that nature that went too far. I'd need to ask the secretary or her teacher find out specifics, though," Lindsey says, suddenly very, very tired and worn.

"Please," the young man says quietly, turning back to his sister and kneeling to whisper words of comfort. Lindsey sighs and stands, walking out of the conference room to find the secretary.

"What exactly is Margaret in here for, this time? She is either unwilling or incapable of telling at this time," Lindsey says dryly as she leans against one side of the tall semi-circle of the secretary's desk. The secretary, ever capable, gives her one glance and immediately turns to the recent files, pulling out the correct one within seconds and merely glancing it over to find the necessary information.

"Says here it was her third hour teacher that sent her in, but the actual incident was between classes, in the hallways. There was a fight between Margaret and one of the other troublemakers, a bully, and the teacher broke it up. Margaret was walking away, but the bully yelled something- oh, you know, one of those derogatory things children say to one another-" here Lindsey nodded knowingly, as the secretary well expected her to "-and Margaret turns around and goes for him with a… my goodness, with  _a knife_ , and she puts it to his  _throat_. Oh, dear. No wonder the teacher is calling for expulsion. I myself  would, at the very least."

Lindsey murmurs thanks to the secretary and turns away, head spinning and fighting the urge to groan again. In the past, Margaret's been involved in fist fights before school, alley brawls after, dust-ups in the bathrooms during lunch, the whole nine yards of violence. She stays out of gang feuds, she's not even tangentially involved in drugs or anything else, but when it comes to unrelated violence at this school, nine times out of ten she's in the center of it with a black-eye and someone else's blood on her knuckles. However, to date, she's never pulled a weapon, and that's been all that's saved her from getting kicked out numerous times. Now, with her history, there is no way Margaret can even slightly get out of this one. If she hadn't already shown she felt guilty, Lindsey would have given her up as a lost cause, vicious and incapable of being saved, and had her expelled. Re-entering the conference room, she's glad to see that Margaret 's calmed down somewhat and is now dry-eyed, while her brother Gregor waits at her shoulder.

"There was a fight in the halls. Margaret pulled a knife," Lindsey says, running a hand through her hair. The man's face doesn't change, superficially, but there's something about the way his shoulders slump just slightly that suggests both resignation and defeat. Oddly enough, Lindsey doesn't see the horror or anger most parents - or siblings, she supposes - would show when told their kid attacked another kid with a blade. The man doesn't even seem surprised.

"Has the punishment already been decided?" Margaret's brother asks, almost with defeat. Lindsey shakes her head, unable to speak. The man seems to brighten a bit, though he now seems wary as well.

"Who decides the punishment?" He asks cautiously.

"It is ultimately the principal's decision… but as the counselor in charge of this particular… c-case, I advise him on the best course of action," she says, speaking softly and looking away when she stumbles over the word 'problem,' unable to get it out. Somehow, she feels the word would not be well received.

"I feel a suspension would be better for my sister. She would have time to cool down, without burning any bridges," the man says levelly, eyes staring straight at her.

"A-agreed," she stutters just slightly, relaxing a bit when Margaret's brother- no, Gregor, when Gregor smiles gratefully and begins guiding his still shell-shocked sister to her feet, a hand on her upper back steering her out of the room.

"Thank you very much, Ms. Mason," he says sincerely. "I assure you, this won't happen again."

And then they are gone.

"I certainly hope so," Lindsey says faintly, collapsing backwards into her chair with a sigh and placing her head in her hands.

Only now, when the siblings are gone, can she think back and realize how alike they were, in mannerism and appearance, how alike their airs of repressed violence and rage, though the man's was hidden more firmly behind civility and dignity. He's young enough that Lindsey would've started working here as counselor while he was still in middle school, and might've seen him at this school early in career, but she can't remember a thing about another Campbell with a similar history of violence. (Lindsey resolves to look in the archives later.) Gregor had claimed that their parents sent him… but his twelve-year-old sister was in the counselor's office for attacking another child. What parent wouldn't come themselves? _Why_ wouldn't they?

Blowing a steady sigh, Lindsey Mason, school counselor, pushed herself to her feet, thinking longingly of her stored-up sick days. Maybe she should use one or two. She could use a day off. She needed a break from her troubled kids. 

Let someone else deal with the problem children.


End file.
